


A Whiskey with Amos Bailey

by Angelpuns



Series: Original works [2]
Category: cowboy - Fandom
Genre: Fiction, Gay, M/M, Original Character(s), Original work - Freeform, gay love story, lgbt fiction, lgbt short story, orifiginal fiction, original - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25374358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelpuns/pseuds/Angelpuns
Summary: Sawyer Hill never expected to fall for the new rancher, but after a few drinks he finds himself less upset at his father for hiring him nad more and more grateful that he is here at all....
Series: Original works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860184
Kudos: 1





	A Whiskey with Amos Bailey

A Whiskey with Amos Bailey  
Sawyer Hill didn’t believe in love at first sight.  
It was one of those things that Tony had told him was utter bullshit, like highschool and the old wives’ tale that jackin’ off would make you go blind. He certainly didn’t need his brother to tell him that, having figured it out on his own right around the end of middle school.  
No, he didn’t believe in love at first sight until he locked eyes with Amos Bailey. 

Sawyer’s father had been talkin’ about getting a new ranch-hand to help ‘round the farm. After all, it was difficult to harvest all the crops without Tony around. Antonio -though he’d always insist that people call him Tony- had died earlier that summer in an accident. He’d been driving the tractor up to the barn so they could fix it. Sawyer was following along behind, the both of them joking around instead of paying attention. It had been Sawyer’s turn to fill the boiler, but he just hadn’t put enough water in this time. The boiler exploded, killing Tony almost instantly and leaving Sawyer with a few burns and scrapes of his own. It easily made the front page of the local paper.  
The funeral had been short, with a closed casket. His mother couldn’t bear to see her Tony lookin’ the way he did. Casseroles from their neighbors seemed to just keep coming, even now, in Mid-September. His father had barely given the rest of the family time to grieve, heart set on gettin’ the corn in before the October frost. Sawyer couldn’t blame him for wanting to get back to work, he’d been taking extra jobs himself just for some kind of distraction.  
Sawyer had been closer to Tony than his parents. His brother had told him everything, they were practically inseparable from the moment Sawyer was born. Tony was always protecting him, just like an older brother should. He still couldn’t get it through his thick head that the other was gone, often finding himself in Tony’s room, left in the same condition as when he’d died.  
It was another dry, late summer’s day, Sawyer lying on the bed in stark silence, mind swimming with memories of a childhood that suddenly felt so, so distant with the loss of his brother. The guilt he’d felt since the accident was unavoidable when he was in Tony’s room. Tony had always been the one helpin’ him out. Sawyer remembered every single time his brother had gotten him out of trouble. He was always makin’ sure Sawyer didn’t fall into the creek or hurt himself tryin’ to climb some tree. Sawyer was supposed to be watchin’ out for Tony too, but in the end he’d practically killed him. In the sickening stillness he fell into a tormented sleep, nightmares of fire and heat and Tony’s charred remains sayin’ the damndest things to him. He woke hours later to his mother calling him down to supper, his back soaked with sweat. Sawyer headed down the stairs, dazed from the restless sleep, his dusty brown curls sticking to his damp forehead and neck. He’d changed his shirt, but he was sure his unease was noticeable.  
His father was already at the table, his boots kicked off and placed next to his chair. His mother was still working at the stove, her own brown curls tied up into a loose, messy bun. He went to take his seat, only for her to stop him.  
“ could you take this soup out to the barn, baby? The new ranch-hand is gonna be needin’ dinner too..” She asked, placing a tray in his hands before he could refuse.  
He must’ve looked bewildered, the fog of sleep lifting with realization. He angrily glanced to his father for some kind of explanation, but the man was already chowing down, ignoring the both of them. He looked to his mother for an explanation, but she just stood there, smiling faintly. Sawyer started out the back door, still bristling with anger at the mere thought of bringing on a new ranch-hand. He was halfway out the door when his mother called out to him again.  
“Sawyer, “ She started, the boy glancing over his shoulder with that same hardened, glaring expression.  
His mother hesitated, her exhaustion obvious in that moment, “ Be sure to ask him if he needs any more blankets”.  
His features softened a little and he nodded, murmuring a ‘yes’m’ and heading out the back door. He slipped his boots on without tying them, easily feeling his way through the dark. The barn lights were still on, a shadow moving in one of the windows. He hesitated at the door, wondering if his father had really brought on a new ranch-hand after everything that had happened. He just couldn’t imagine his father replacing his favorite son like that. He knew they needed to get the harvest in, but hiring a goddamn ranch-hand so soon after Tony’s death was just...it was unthinkable. There had been many nights where he and his father got into screaming matches over the mere suggestion of it at the dinner table, often ending with Sawyer running up to his room and his mother coming up later with the remains of his dinner. He couldn’t do that to her again tonight, not when he saw how puffy her eyes were and how she squeezed the oven mitts she’d been using so tightly. That didn’t stop him from hating the new ranch-hand, though.  
Sawyer finally stepped into the building, only to make accidental, intimate eye contact with a stranger. A particularly handsome one that was so close Sawyer could see faint freckles covering his nose. He broke into a nervous sweat, the man’s prominent features and height making him feel flighty. He was never one to back down from a fight, but this was something else. A different type of lightweightedness that he couldn’t quite describe.Whatever instincts had told him to despise this stranger seemed to fall away immediately, that light feeling creeping into his chest and making his breath size for a moment, his anger dissipating as easily as it had begun.  
“Ar...are you the new ranch-hand?” he asked, giving the man a once over.  
He was tall and tanned, straight black hair pulled back into a little braid. He had high, defined cheekbones, with light, hazel eyes that seemed to droop in the outer corners, just a little. Though attractive, the stranger was covered in cuts and bruises, a particularly bad black eye poking out from under his mussed up bangs. He looked, in fact, like he’d been in a fight. Sawyer could even see dirt coating his hands, encrusted underneath his fingernails. His clothing was worse for wear, ragged and torn in places. He could tell it was incredibly thin as well, the loose fabric probably doing nothing to keep him warm.  
“ yeah....that for me?”  
Sawyer looked up suddenly, his eyes meeting the stranger’s. He nodded mutely, face heating up a little when he realized he’d been staring for just a minute too long.  
He handed the tray over, the other’s shaky hands making the spoon his mother provided clink against the bowl a little. The stranger was obviously starving, he probably hadn’t eaten or showered in at least a week, judging just from looks.  
Sawyer fidgeted uncomfortably in the doorway, watching him sit on an overturned bucket like some kind of makeshift chair.  
“ I’m Sawyer,” he finally said, closing the door behind him before awkwardly holding out a hand for the other to shake, “ we best be introducin’ ourselves...since we’re gonna work together from now on.”  
The stranger stopped eating for a moment to shake his hand, shooting him a smile,  
“ I’m Amos Bailey...guess you all don’t get many visitors, huh?”  
Sawyer was staring again, shocked by how friendly he was. However, that flighty feeling continued, like the butterflies in his stomach might carry him away at any moment. He’d taken note of the way he smiled-a crooked little grin-as well as the gap between his two front teeth. It was kind of charming, really. He shook the thoughts away, managing a smile of his own, “ yeah, not a lot of people ‘round here that can give an extra set of hands during harvest season.”  
Sawyer shivered a little as a breeze blew through the old, creaking barn, the cool September nights soon to become cold with the onset of Autumn. He glanced at Amos again, knowing he couldn’t have been much warmer than Sawyer, especially in those clothes. He didn’t bother asking if he needed a blanket, knowing he’d need more than that to keep him warm tonight.  
He made his way across the barn and crouched in front of a stray hay bale. He pushed it aside, pulling up a loose floorboard with ease. Tony had always kept a bottle of Chesterbrook here, for emergencies. Sawyer had never seen him drink it, but when he pulled the bottle out it was only half full, the whiskey inside swishing around a bit. He felt a bit bad drinking his brother’s booze, but hell, this counted as an emergency.  
He grabbed another bucket and flipped it next to the other’s, taking a seat as he popped the cork off.  
“I’ll bring some blankets after dinner, but this should warm ya up a little…” he murmured, handing the bottle to Amos.  
Sawyer watched with an unwavering gaze as the other downed a few hearty swigs, a little surprised that he could drink it without flinching. He caught himself staring at Amos’ lips, his face growing warm. Sawyer didn’t know what was happening to him. Maybe it was the Mid-September flu that seemed to swarm these parts. He didn’t know. Sawyer barely acknowledged that Amos was handing the bottle back, murmuring an apology when he finally - hesitantly - took it. Like he was afraid to drink.  
However, he tipped it back and drank, his mind wandering to the other’s lips again and again, with each swig he took. He finally stopped, letting out a sigh as he corked the bottle.  
Sawyer got up, putting the whiskey back and just hoping Amos didn’t steal it. Not that he seemed the type to do that, but he’d already stolen Tony’s place on the farm. Who’s to say he wouldn’t steal something else along with it.  
It didn’t take Sawyer long to gather up a few stray quilts for Amos, taking them to the barn and helping him set up a makeshift bed in the hay loft. His own dinner was forgotten, the male no longer hungry now that it was starting to get late.They ended the night with a couple of cigarettes, Sawyer finally heading back inside with a warmth in his chest. He couldn’t really say if it was the remnants of the whiskey they’d sipped or the ashes of cigarette in his lungs, but it warmed him through that first cool September night, his thoughts occupied with images of the new ranch-hand. 

***

Sawyer’s feelings didn’t stop growing after that first night. As Autumn dragged on, Amos came to fill Tony’s place like a glove. He was a strong worker and did whatever was asked of him, even insisting that he help Sawyer with his chores. He didn’t care about getting dirty or ending the day with a few more scrapes and bruises, assuring the Hills that he didn’t need weekends off. He was just happy to work. Sawyer couldn’t say the same- not anymore, anyway.  
He had never really minded working the family business, knowing he’d get married to some local girl and work with his brother for the rest of his life. But it was getting tougher knowing that he’d made such a big mistake. It had cost Tony his life. Sawyer didn’t want the same thing to happen to Amos. So, he pushed himself harder and harder, even if Amos was proving to be more of a distraction than Sawyer thought he would. Even after his promise to hate the new ranch-hand, he often found himself staring at Amos when they worked together. He’d glance over as the other was hauling hay into a wheelbarrow, unable to rip his eyes from Amos’ lips, dotted with droplets of sweat. His eyes never traveled too far from them, always snapping back to reality just as the other look notice of his staring and glanced over.  
Sawyer’s mind wasn’t always occupied with thoughts of Amos. He too often retreated to Tony’s room, usually looking for refuge from his father’s temper. He’d figured getting someone to replace Tony on the ranch would have calmed him down some, but his father was always yellin’ about one thing or another. His mother and Amos never said a word about it, but Sawyer knew they had noticed. Maybe it was the lack of Tony’s witty comments, but Sawyer was even more certain now that his father hated him. He’d hated him before, but now that he’d practically killed Tony it was so much more obvious. He’d always known he wasn’t a prime candidate to inherit the farm, since Tony had really been perfect in every way. Even after death Sawyer couldn’t live up to him. Tony wasn’t discussed much. At least, not by Sawyer. Amos knew only what Sawyer had told him, that he had died in an accident. Sawyer couldn’t talk about him more than that without feeling like he was using his name in vain. Like Tony himself would come down and curse him for being the cause of his death. Not to mention Sawyer was feelin’ some sorta way about Amos. The sinful kind of way that his father cursed about over dinner. He’d go on and on about how ‘them faggots’ were gonna bring this country to sin. Not that his father was ever that religious when it came to drinkin’ and smokin’. Hell, he didn’t even join the rest of the family at church on Sunday.  
Sawyer had not only taken to staying in Tony’s room, but he’d fiddle with his things, too. He’d glance through his old novels, reading Tony’s messy notes in the margins like he’d be able to hear his voice again. He’d lie in his bed and stare at the wall, counting the marks where Tony used to nail pictures of their family’s prize winning animals, posters of the Minot Mallards and pages torn outta those magazines that had been circulating ‘round town. Even before feeling the way he did about Amos, Sawyer had never been all that interested in the pretty, nude women depicted on those pages. Sawyer would go as far as dusting off his signed baseball and his shelves, making sure to put everything back where he found it. He didn’t wanna fuck Tony’s room up, too.  
As Amos’ presence became more and more reminiscent of Tony, Sawyer’s guilt became palpable. If only to himself. He knew better than to underfill the boiler. He knew better than to slack off on his chores. His father’s silence on the matter certainly didn’t help, the man too often avoiding Sawyer and speaking to Amos instead. He was proving to be the perfect heir to the farm, just like Tony had been. Sawyer’s mother seemed just a little happier, his father didn’t shout as much. Tony had always been the favorite of everyone. His mother doted on him often and their father...well, Tony was meant to inherit the family farm. Of course their father would favor him more, just as he now did with Amos.  
Sawyer’s worries were proven one brisk morning when he, his father and Amos all hopped in the truck and headed into town to sell a bit of their harvest. They set up their little booth next to Pat’s General Store, as they always did this time of year. Thankfully news of Tony’s death had finally been dyin’ down, the condolences and talks about how good of a son he’d been almost nonexistent that day.

“ My, my, what’s this? ”  
Sawyer looked up to see a younger woman he didn’t recognize walking up to the booth to peruse, her hair and clothes too fancy to be from around these parts. She was one of them modern women Sawyer saw in those ‘Playboy’ magazines in his brother’s room. Save for she was decent and all.  
“Hello there miss,” his father greeted, almost too polite for it to really be him sayin’ it, “reckon you aren’t from around these parts, since I haven’t had the pleasure of meetin’ you”  
She smiled, “ no, I don’t reckon I am. I just came up from Texas to help with my daddy’s new restaurant”.  
She looked to Sawyer first, then Amos, her cheeks growing pink at the sight of him. She was taken by his appearance immediately, just as Sawyer had been.  
“ And who are these two fine gentleman?” She questioned, though Sawyer knew she was mostly talking about Amos. A hot, green envy started to ferment inside him, rising like bile the longer she stared. He thought to himself that she was pretty and all, but his jealousy certainly wasn’t because of her looks.  
His father wrapped an arm around Amos’ shoulder and grinned, “ Well this here’s my boy Amos. Say hi, son”  
Amos seemed to be at a loss for words, but with a nudge from Sawyer’s father he introduced himself and shook the girls’ hand, fidgeting uncomfortably as she continued to oggle him. Even as she walked away with a bag of corn in each hand, Sawyer knew it had been no mistake that his father called Amos his son. 

The two of them were alone in the barn that evening, taking a cigarette break just before dinner, when Amos brought up Tony.  
“ I hear your brother was a real stand up kinda guy...that older woman down the street was real taken with him, “ Amos chuckled, tapping the embers of his half-finished cigarette into the bucket at his feet, “ she kept going on ‘bout that blond hair of his and all that…”  
Sawyer didn’t respond, taking a long drag of his own cigarette. Amos kept going.  
“Said it was a damn shame that he died like that…” he murmured, glancing at Sawyer with a sympathetic look, “ She said you two were real close… he must’ve been some brother, huh?”  
Sawyer flicked his cigarette into the bucket, nodding a bit. For once, he was avoiding Amos’ gaze, knowing if he looked into them deep, knowing eyes right then he’d spill everything.  
“ yeah...he was..” Sawyer murmured, frowning and taking a long drag of his cigarette. He let the ashes fall to his feet, not even bothering to tap them into the bucket,  
“ He shouldn’t’ve died like that…”.  
Amos cleared his throat, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the bucket. He stood, shooting Sawyer one of those little half-smiles,  
“ Say, why don’t we drink some of that whiskey? It’s mighty chilly out and all…”

“Yeah….” Sawyer agreed, if only to avoid talking about Tony. He let Amos get it on his own, the other knew where it was. They’d shared it a few times since that first night, the bottle near empty by now. Amos sat again, taking a swig and passing it to Sawyer. Preoccupied with thoughts of his brother, Sawyer didn’t even hesitate to take a large gulp this time before handing it back to Amos. It was mid-November now, the cold biting at his cheeks and hands, even with the warmth that had begun in his stomach.  
“ You okay?” Amos suddenly asked, voice surprisingly soft. Sawyer looked up at that, Amos far closer than he was before. He ran his slender fingers over Sawyer’s arm as he spoke, the place that he touched becoming warm. Sawyer was sure it was the whiskey.  
His breath caught in his throat, the male hesitating to answer. If he said he was okay, wouldn’t Amos let go? Wouldn’t he pull away and sap the warmth away with him. Even as Sawyer lied to himself, told himself it was just the whiskey, he knew it was...more than that. He’d known before too, that it was more than the whiskey keeping him warm that first night. Amos moved closer, his finger still hovering over Sawyer’s arm, just barely touching. Sawyer himself felt the pull, but the image of his father callin’ him a fag and beatin’ the life outta him made him hesitate.However, Amos’ hot breath on his cheek made him forget the thought entirely. Every worry that usually held him back seemed to fade in the crisp night, the male leaning ever forward. Amos was so close that Sawyer could smell the whiskey on his breath, their lips almost touching. Amos was the one that leaned forward in that brief silence, his lips on Sawyer’s for only a moment before he pulled away again. Even in the dimly lit barn Sawyer could see the red on Amos’ cheeks and that gentle half-smile of his.  
Sawyer clambered up from the hay bale he’d been sitting on, the bucket of discarded cigarette butts toppling over with a loud clanging of metal against wood. He glanced from the bucket to Amos, mouth open, but said nothing. Sawyer rushed from the barn without so much as a goodbye, not bothering to glance back and see if Amos came after him. He knew without looking that he hadn’t.  
Sawyer spent the evening in Tony’s room, ripping pages out of those damned magazines and begging Tony to come down and slap some sense into him for feeling this way. For even imagining being something more with Amos.  
It was business as usual the next morning. Like it hadn’t even happened. They took their seats on hay bales once again that night, smoking and sipping at whiskey without so much as a word about the night before. Sawyer was almost relieved Amos didn’t ask why his eyes were so damn red, but a tug on his heart made him yearn for that gentle touch again. 

***

The two certainly didn’t talk as much as they had before. Maybe it was the shame of what they’d done or the realization that their feelings for each other were too similar to ignore. Sawyer had taken to working harder to avoid that little pang in his heart, like a little dinner bell calling him to Amos’ lips again. He did his damndest to ignore it, but times at times like this it was hard. It was a brisk morning in January, the two of them in the barn, loadin’ hay onto a trailer. Amos had rolled his long sleeves back to his elbows, his hair tied back into a neat little bun. It was much longer than when he’d first arrived. His beard was coming in, too, but Sawyer knew he’d shave it soon. He never kept it for long, even when Sawyer had let it slip that it looked nice.  
Sweat dribbled down the back of Amos’ neck, Sawyer watching as it disappeared down his shirt collar. He was sweating something awful himself, but he’d barely noticed, too busy starin’. Unable to drag his eyes away. Sawyer’s gaze had moved to Amos’ lips, his eyes slowly trailing up to meet the other’s gaze. He glanced away, face flushed. Sawyer grabbed the nearest bale and tossed it onto the trailer behind them, cheeks still pink. He wished it was from the cold, but the tightness in his chest told him otherwise. 

“ Sawyer….”  
Sawyer didn’t dare look up, grabbing another bale and tossing it with some effort onto the trailer.  
A hand stopped him from going for another, keeping a firm, yet gentle hold on his wrist.  
“ Let’s take a break…” Amos murmured, Sawyer meeting his gaze and nodding, unable to say no to that crooked little smile.  
The two sat side by side, their legs hanging down from the loft. Stray piece of hay fell from Sawyer’s curls as he ran his hand through them, anxious to get back to work. Not wanting to talk about they so badly needed to talk about.  
“ Too bad that we’re outta whiskey…” Amos said, his voice soft. He smiled faintly, patting Sawyer on the back a little, “ Your brother have another secret drink ‘round here? Some tequila’d be nice…”  
Sawyer shook his head, retracting under Amos’ touch, “He didn’t drink much..had a fine taste in whiskey, though “  
He let out an airy little laugh, fiddling nervously with his fingers. Just as he predicted, Amos turned the subject to a topic he’d been absolutely dreading.  
“ You remember back in November?” Amos asked, his voice low and quiet. Sawyer’s father was just outside the barn chopping wood and Amos had eaten dinner with them enough to hear how he felt about kinship between two men.  
Sawyer nodded, though he was sure Amos hadn’t really been asking. After all, it was all that Sawyer thought about. He was all that Sawyer thought about.  
“ I ain’t been avoiding it on purpose or anything...I guess I was just afraid ” Amos sighed,  
“ But I figure I’d better say something so you’ll stop workin’ yourself to death…”  
Sawyer stiffened a little, staring at his fingers to avoid looking at Amos. He was practically holding his breath, knowing that the man would either tell him off or would confess to his own sinfulness. Sawyer could only hope for the latter.  
“ it ain’t natural...two men bein’ together..”  
Sawyer’s heart fell, but he didn’t move, letting Amos continue.  
“ But I don’t reckon I’ve ever been natural..I ain’t never been perfect, either....” Amos confessed, chuckling faintly, “ guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that I think I’m feelin’ some sort of way ‘bout you, Sawyer Hill”  
Sawyer seemed to take his very first breath since November. Relief and a hotness that shook him to his core seemed to fizz through him, his face becoming even more pink. The cold had some part in it, but he knew there was something else there, too, and he couldn’t deny it now that Amos had laid out the truth like that. 

***

Sawyer and Amos had finished their break with their second kiss, though it wasn’t nearly as short as the first. As the winter began to meld into Spring, their relationship delved into something deeper. They shared sneaky kisses nearly everywhere and anywhere they could, Behind piles of hay, hidden behind farm equipment they were supposed to be fixin’, in the hall closet before dinner. They both knew it was unnatural, that it was wrong. Sawyer knew all too well that his father would kill’em if they were caught, but the pull was too much. They could barely keep their hands off each other to get their chores done, much less long enough to be overly cautious.  
One evening in early March, they were just too careless. Sawyer was supposed to be bringin’ Amos dinner, but Amos had set the tray aside and pulled Sawyer to him without even checking to make sure no one was looking. They were hardly hidden from view, the darkness their only veil.  
Sawyer’s father had followed, planning to ask Amos to head into town with him tomorrow for supplies. The screen door had squeaked shut behind him, the man heading for the barn, squinting into the darkness. The two were easy to see once he got to the barn door, just outside of the porch light.  
It was a blur for Sawyer from there. He’d been kissing Amos one second, the next his father was shouting and grabbing for his arm, his grip so tight Sawyer was sure it’d break. He barely remembered Amos’ face when the man had suddenly tackled his father and wrenching Sawyer’s arm out of his grip. Sawyer hurried to get up, his body begging him to run. Run. Every part of him pulled him in a different direction. He could only watched his father slowly overpower Amos, his chest aching at the sight. He wanted to stay. To help. Logic reminded him that even if he did, life wouldn’t be the same. He could never embrace Amos again, even if they didn’t die by his father’s hand. He bolted with that thought, gasping in the brisk air and begging his legs not to give out with fear. Even as he reminded himself that he and Amos couldn’t continue like that, he felt the pull in his chest, the aching making him stop and glance back. Maybe they could skip town together. Maybe it would be okay. He started to rush back to Amos’ aid, only to see him lying limp under his father. The man’s hands so tight around Amos’ throat that he couldn’t have possibly survived.  
For the first time since his brother’s death, a hot wash of tears stung his eyes. Sawyer was quick to wipe them away when his father stood, now a dark silhouette against the bright porch light. Sawyer turned and ran. His tears and sweat mixed as they ran down his face, one unable to be distinguished from the other in the night. He didn’t turn back after that. Not once.

**Author's Note:**

> An original short story I just felt like sharing.


End file.
